


Whiskey and Wonder

by gildedfrost



Series: Reverse AU: Hands [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dermatillomania, Drinking, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, New Year's Eve, Onychotillomania, Picking, Scars, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Character, onychophagia, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: “It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m entitled to a drink,” Connor says. He holds the flask in his lap while his hands find each other, dull nails clicking as they pick. “I thought you’d be out celebrating with your friends.”Hank sits quietly beside him, watching the lights twinkle. “That was the plan,” he says, “but one of them wouldn’t answer his phone.”
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Reverse AU: Hands [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1585036
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	Whiskey and Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> Note the tags as content warnings. 
> 
> Can be read standalone from the rest of the series.

Lights twinkle throughout the city, sparkling off the dark waters of the river amidst streetlights and Christmas lights that haven’t yet been taken down. Traffic is busy across the bridge, and firecrackers and sirens can be heard intermittently. It echoes around Connor, sitting atop a picnic table in the park with a flask in his hands, wondering when the last time he saw starlight was.

His thumb runs up and down along the dull metallic edge between sips, thumbnail catching on the nicks that have formed after years of use. He’s alone out here with only honey whiskey to keep him company. Anyone out wandering here would be hard pressed to see him in the darkness, lit though it is by streetlights, and that suits him just fine. No one’s going to be out at the park this late to see what a mess he is. 

Part of him wonders how he would look right now. What would a stranger see? A strange man waiting to see some fireworks, the flask a sign of festivity and the scars on his arms a sign of mystery and depth? Someone lost, sad, and on the edge of a breakdown? A man who’s too busy digging his own grave to care about anything else? He doesn’t feel like any of those. He’s like a rag, drenched and wrung out, pulled taut and frayed until the threads are bare.

He doesn’t realize he’s chewing on a nail until he hears the footsteps approaching from behind, and he stubbornly does not stop, given that he intended to be alone right now and he has the right to do as he pleases. The nail’s in poor condition and getting worse. Sparse flecks of sparkling blue nailpolish are all that remains from the few-days-old coat, applied in an attempt to feel good about his hands and keep himself from doing this exact thing, and the nail itself is split in two, a bright red gash separating the two halves as they resist Connor’s idle attempts to peel and pick more of it off.

“You’re brooding,” Hank says, coming to a stop beside the table. He’s wearing one of his perpetually cheery print shirts and he crosses his arms, bare like Connor’s in the unseasonably warm evening. “Don’t you ever get tired of that?”

“Don’t you?” Connor takes another drink from the flask, feeling spiteful and petty. Hank’s good-natured snark and dishevelment are about as thin a cover for his own issues as Connor’s neat façade. It doesn’t make much sense, but he’s also suddenly bitter over Hank’s flawless arms. He doesn’t have a single scar, not from the revolution nor any of his work in the year since, and it feels like a taunt, showing off a piece of normalcy that Connor gave up long ago and can’t ever have back.

It’s seventy degrees outside, a perfectly good reason to go without sleeves, but Connor’s mind would rather not think logically right now.

“No point quitting what you’re good at, right? You’ve got how many decades of experience now?”

“Why are you here, Hank? Are you trying to piss me off?” Connor glares at Hank as he sits beside him, but he doesn’t hold the expression for long. He offers the flask to the android. Hank might not be able to get drunk, but it’s the thought that counts.

Hank briefly raises one hand to decline the offer, and it’s then that Connor notices he has nail polish on too, a glittering white that fades into a blue matching his eyes. “I designated myself your driver.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’re not sober.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m entitled to a drink,” Connor says. He holds the flask in his lap while his hands find each other, dull nails clicking as they pick. “I thought you’d be out celebrating with your friends.”

Hank sits quietly beside him, watching the lights twinkle. “That was the plan,” he says, “but one of them wouldn’t answer his phone.”

Connor bristles. “Is that what this is? You want to guilt me for ruining your night?”

“You’re doing more to ruin your night than mine. Both of us chose to be here; you didn’t decide shit for me.”

“I told you I’d be fine.” He isn’t fine and they both know it. “The scene we worked was ugly, but it’s not something I haven’t seen before. I’m capable of handling it.”

“How many calls from your brothers did you decline today?”

“What is this, ‘call out Connor’ night?” he snaps. “Of course I declined their calls. I don’t want to go to some shitty family party.”

“Why? Afraid you might enjoy yourself? Don’t want to see people who obviously care about you?”

“Really, Hank?” Connor’s expression is incredulous and really doesn’t express how much he wants to punch the other man right now. “Did you come all the way out here so you could lecture me about ignoring my family?”

Hank shrugs. “Nines emailed me asking if you were alright. I said yes, because we were still at work and you were doing fine. Seems nice to have people like that. A family.”

“I see my brothers plenty.”

“You ignored them for Christmas and Thanksgiving, too.”

“Because they still see our parents and extended family.” Connor takes a swig, then bites his thumbnail once before bringing his hand back to his side. “They dress up and smile, all perfect and proper, and everyone pretends the two of them are straight. Nines has a girlfriend so of course he’s not bi, and August has a ‘roommate’ he’s definitely not engaged to. They think it’s worth it to put on an act. I don’t.”

“That’s what I don’t get. You don’t need to act. You can see your family, all of them, people you’re connected to in a uniquely human way, and you give that up. Why? Because you’re afraid to be yourself around them?”

Connor tightens his grip on the flask and worries at the nicks in it. He takes a deep breath. It would be so easy to snap at Hank right now, but he sounds so earnest and frustrated, and unfortunately it’s not possible to literally shake sense into him. “Hank,” he says instead. “Do you want a family? Is that what this is about?”

Hank huffs and looks away, which confirms Connor’s suspicion. He can almost hear an echo of Hank from last winter: _Androids can’t want anything._ “I want to understand,” Hank says. “I don’t have the slightest idea what it’s like to have parents, but I think if I had them, I’d want to see them, assholes or not. Because they’d be my asshole parents.”

“Even if they caused this?” Connor asks, tapping the flask against his arm. The scars are too many to count, many of them pale and old, never quite fading with time. 

Something in Hank’s expression changes, becomes darker. They rarely talk outright about Connor’s deeper issues; Hank’s not rude or invasive enough to dredge them up, and Connor hates the vulnerability that comes with opening up. It’s one thing to talk about Connor missing a meal due to stress or overworking himself, things that can easily be fixed or changed, and another entirely to touch on the parts that he’d rather everyone ignore. “That’s from more than just pretending,” Hank says carefully.

“My parents think they fucked something up because I didn’t turn out to be picture perfect.” He laughs bitterly. “They can’t accept a single thing about me and I quit tolerating their bullshit long ago. If I were to go see my family at their party, I’d either make a scene or bottle everything up to take out on myself later. Did you know they still write my deadname on Christmas and birthday cards? It’s been over a decade. If they want me there, they can start with an apology. I’m done pretending if they’re not even going to try. My brothers can fuck off for trying to get me to see those assholes again.”

“You don’t miss them at all?”

“They’re not worth missing. But… yeah, I do.” Connor fidgets with the flask again before bringing it to his lips and tipping back, finishing the last of it in one go. It heats his chest like a fire, starting smooth and ending hot. The taste of honey in his mouth is better than that of contempt. 

The silence of the night sits between them for some minutes, another siren going off in the distance, and Connor wonders how much longer it will be until midnight.

“I’m glad you have your brothers,” Hank says. “And I’m grateful for the people who have become part of my life. I’m sorry the rest of your family can’t see the good that’s right in front of them.”

Connor scoffs. “What’s good about this?” he asks, gesturing to himself, then he sighs with a shake of his head. “I don’t mean to do the whole self-deprecating thing. I just feel like shit, you know? I came out here to mope alone so I wouldn’t put this on anyone else.”

“Too bad. I care.” Hank bumps his shoulder against Connor’s. “And you’re stuck with me for the rest of the decade.”

“Very funny.”

“You’re right about me. Sometimes I wish I had a family. Flesh and blood. The HX900s aren’t exactly like that. None of us raised each other or anything of the sort. The bonds I have with any of them came from building friendships. Sure, you can make your own family, choose who’s important and you’ll stand by no matter what, but sometimes I dream about it. I wonder what it would be like to have a mother who says she’s proud of me, or a father who hugs me like I belong there.”

Connor sets the flask aside, trying and failing to keep it upright as it tips over with a _clunk_. He scoots over a couple inches and reaches over with his right arm, wrapping Hank in a one-armed hug and resting his cheek on the android’s shoulder. “Me too.”

“You don’t like thinking about them, do you?”

“Nope. My brothers are probably ready to break something right now after all their playing along. And… well. It’s hard to forget everything they’ve said to me.”

Hank rests his arm across Connor’s shoulders. “Is that why you’re drinking?”

“Not exactly. My microwave broke,” Connor says. “It’s like the final piece in the jenga tower that made everything fall down. I drove here, kicked a tree, and sat down to feel sorry for myself. Normally I’d hurt myself, but I knew you’d notice whether I wore long sleeves or not, so I put it off. You showed up anyway.” He’s not sure he still won’t hurt himself later, but he thinks he should be proud that he didn’t earlier. He isn’t, and he doesn’t feel like he’s trying, but maybe it will mean something to Hank that he made that decision tonight.

Hank eyes the flask. “It’s a step. How are your hands?”

Connor curls his left hand into a fist, hiding the nails, but he knows Hank’s already seen the split one. “I know how to take care of myself.”

“Knowing doesn’t mean you do. I mean, you’re like family to me, alright? Legally, I’m obligated to bother you for your own good.”

“Legally, you weren’t invited.” Connor blinks a few times, mind parsing the words slowly. “What do you mean, like family?”

“I’ve been around you almost my whole life,” Hank says. “We’ve risked our necks for each other and we’ve taught each other a lot about the world. We’ve gone through a lot and we’ll keep going through shit together because we’re both stubborn enough to keep pushing and supporting each other. You’re like a brother to me, Con, and I can’t imagine life without you. If anyone in this world’s family to me, it’s you.”

“Oh.” Connor clears his throat. “Is that why you painted your nails?”

“What?” Hank glances at his own hand. “No, I just thought it looked neat. It is why I’m out here looking out for you, though. Same as how you look out for me at work and with whatever the weekly android-related bullshit is.”

“God, okay, I’m too drunk for this. I think you feel too much,” Connor groans. Hank’s shoulder is soft, but he can still feel the beginnings of a headache. Probably dehydration. “I mean, I’m not drunk, but this is a lot of feelings.”

Hank laughs. “You might be right. Hey, so here’s the plan: We’re gonna watch the fireworks and then grab some burgers, alright?”

“I’m tipsy, not incompetent. I’m perfectly capable of deciding what I want to do without your help.”

He can practically feel Hank roll his eyes. “Then what are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to watch the fireworks, then get my GPS to find a pizza place because she knows what’s open and what’s not. Your burger stand would’ve closed three hours ago.”

There’s a pause. “Fuck. You’re right.”

“Time’s only meaningless until it becomes an obstacle to obtaining food.”

“Wise words from a man who kicked a tree.”

“You know I’m right, though.”

Hank grins, eyes watching the sky as the first fireworks go off. “Yeah. You’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Have a happy new year!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @gildedfrost (18+), and I spend time in the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) DBH Discord server as well!


End file.
